“I glanced again. He was still watching me.Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy... well.”

“Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well.”

“He was hot. A nonhotboy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy...well.”

“After a minute, I look up and the boy named Leo is staring at me. I stare back, but he doesn´t look away."Why are you looking at me?" I hiss at him, my cheeks turning hot, filled with shame for the exchange he just heard.He just keeps looking at me for a moment, and then he shrugs. "Because I like your face," he says, but now a corner of his mouth is quirking up in a half smile.”

“Have I mentioned how hot Michael is? Hot, hot, hot. I mean, all guitar players are crushworthy - it's like it's issued with the talent - but I've been noticing lately that he is total Hottie McHottie of Hotland. Not that I could tell him that. Luckily, he is a boy. Hence, too dense to figure out why I'm staring at his ass.”

“In a pocket of his knapsack he'd found a last half packet of cocoa and he fixed it for the boy and then poured his own cup with hot water and sat blowing at the rim.You promised not to do that, the boy said.What?You know what, Papa.He poured the hot water back into the pan and took the boy's cup and poured some of the cocoa into his own and then handed it back.I have to watch you all the time, the boy said.”